


Glimpse

by Axis2ClusterB, o_contrary



Series: Show and Tell [1]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: D/s themes, M/M, Praise Kink, some daddykink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:29:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3350105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axis2ClusterB/pseuds/Axis2ClusterB, https://archiveofourown.org/users/o_contrary/pseuds/o_contrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chibs has always seen the potential in Juice for something other than as a Son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glimpse

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, but between the two of us, we probably managed to catch the major fails; as to those that remain, we beg your forbearance.
> 
> Characters belong to Kurt Sutter, Sutter Ink, and FX Originals (if I have missed anyone, it is through error, not spite). This is a transformative work of fiction; no copyright infringement is intended. No money is being made on any of it, please don’t sue.

Chibs sees it from the moment Jax brings Juice in as a prospect, potential unspooling before his eyes like all the dirty moves to end a fight when he’s in the middle of it. Jax confesses in Church that he’s vouching for him almost entirely because the lad can fill a niche they’re sorely in need of filling with his tech skills, and his self-maintained Harley is in pristine condition. He’s also scrappy in a tussle, and claims to know his way around firearms well enough (they’ll test him, once they vote him in, and he’ll pass easily – good with his hands, this one).

The lad has the makings of an excellent Son, but he needs guidance. He’s so eager to please, is the thing. It’s a good trait in a prospect, but it needs tempering down from _too_ eager to ever get patched in. He gets all caught up in trying to be everything anyone needs all the time, and all that outwardly directed energy sometimes spins him out. Especially since he’s a bit of a soft touch, as well – boy’s never had a father figure, and it shows. Potential Man of Mayhem, aye, but his brand of mayhem is the generally bloodless sort, accomplished with keyboards and gadgets and mind-altering substances, with a wee spot of hellraising on the side.

Since Chibs genuinely likes the lad, has done since he first started making his presence known at public gatherings, he does his utmost to guide him, tries to herd him along, a nudge here, pat on the back there, firm reprimands as needed, whatever it takes to bring him to focus, turn that anxious energy productive. 

He beams and hoots along proudly with the rest when Juice gets patched in.

Of course, none of this has anything to do with the fact that there’s something in the way the lad watches him, now and then, that gets his dick hard. He’s no stranger to the impulse, though the occasions have been fewer in his time with the Sons. The thought of the lad sticking around and watching him like that now on a permanent basis? 

Well, Chibs loves the sweetbutts, bless their hearts and tits, tight wet pussies and firm asses, but they’re just a little bit… easy. There’s no little shiver of the forbidden down his spine with them, never has been or will be, and he’s not in SAMCRO because he fancies a leisurely lifestyle.

Just like there’s no denying that the kid’s got a hell of a body on him, perfectly sculpted shoulders and abs and that tight little ass. Sometimes, Chibs’ll watch him play pool and have to remind himself not to stare too hard, not to give it away yet. He wants the lad to come to him, too.

If he’s honest, he wants the power that’ll come along with that. See, he thinks he’s got the kid pretty well figured, and doesn’t think it’s random that he’s chosen one of the elder members of the MC to shoot that look at. Maybe the lad doesn’t know what it is he’s looking for, exactly, but Chibs will be – not that he has plans to admit it – happy to help him figure it out.

He doesn’t try to kid himself that he’s anything other than the least terrifying option, though dense as the lad can be, Chibs knows he’s noticed how the ladies flock to him, some not even sparing Jax a second glance, and trusts Juice has come to the appropriate conclusion. It’s all part of what makes him a good sponsor for the prospects; in most situations, he’d rather use persuasion than force, and he’d rather mold the good prospects than shatter them, which brings a kind of loyalty that fear doesn’t. There’s always a delicate balance to maintain, though, and he’s quite chuffed with his place in the hierarchy, so he contents himself with watching – carefully – until the lad makes up his mind.

Chibs is actually kind of surprised, though, at the way the lad goes about it, once he finally does make up his mind. He’d always sort of thought there’d be drink involved, maybe some weed, but it’s stone cold sober in the light of day when the kid brushes up against him in the long hallway running through the dorm as Chibs is leaving the spare room. The halls in the dorm aren’t huge, but there’s plenty of room for two people to pass unencumbered; there’s no way the proximity is anything but deliberate. And Juice looks him dead in the eye before making contact, then lingers on it, fingertips ghosting along Chibs’s cut.

Arousal, always lying in wait while biding his time on the lad, unfurls like a punch, low in his stomach. “Something I can help you with, Juicy?”

Chibs expects the kid to get all fumble-tongued, but what happens instead is Juice dropping his eyes to where his fingers still rest against Chibs’s cut, then glancing up at him. His heart is beating so hard, Chibs can see his thin cotton t-shirt moving with it, just a little, and his face is a lovely dusky flush, but his voice is steady when he says, “Maybe there’s something I can help you with.”

“That so, lad?” Chibs holds himself still, neither retreating nor advancing. He wants no questions later about hazing or taking advantage or rites of passage, not that anyone else will get fussed over the details. Chibs doesn’t have any particular plans for anyone else to know, and the lad’s not likely to, either.

Juice looks up at him from under his bloody ridiculous lashes, letting his thumb drift from the cut to stroke the placket of Chibs’s shirt, teasing at a gap in the buttons. “You seem stressed these days.” It’s almost pointed, the way he leaves _brother_ off the end of the statement, and Chibs fights the twitch at the corners of his mouth. If anyone was going to sound like they’d swallowed a porn script, it’d be Juicy. 

He leans in a little, close enough for his breath to gust over Juice’s ear. “Is that the kind of thing can be cured by ye dangling off me cracking great cock?”

This close, he can see Juice’s pupils dilate, hear the heavy huff of air blown out at his words. “That sound like something ye might be interested in, eh?”

Juice moves in even closer, tilts his head just right, says, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Good,” Chibs murmurs, voice pitched low. It’s not ‘good boy’, not yet, but the lad shudders all the same, bites his lip on it, and doubles down.

“Do you out here in the hall, even.” Fuck, the lad’s going to be the death of him. He knows it, too, if the sly gleam in his eyes in the dim light of the hallway is anything to go by.

But Chibs hasn’t gotten this far in life by not knowing how to handle himself and improvise as necessary. “I appreciate that, laddie, I do,” he says, keeping that same low pitch to his voice as he nudges his foot back against the door behind him, not missing the way Juice all but comes to attention like a hound on a hot scent. Chibs smiles as the door swings open with a creak. “But no need.” 

He settles a hand firmly on the nape of Juice’s neck, tugging him along as he backs into the room. The lad stumbles after him like his strings have been cut and Chibs’s hand is the only thing keeping him upright; he has to suppress a moan.

Chibs feels Juice gather himself enough to kick the door shut behind him before he’s winding himself around Chibs and pressing him back against it, stretching his neck up and nipping at Chibs’s jaw before Chibs turns his head and catches the kid’s mouth. Juice breathes out a moan as Chibs slides his tongue against Juice’s lips, and then the lad opens for him fully. The boy has a talented tongue, there’s no doubt about that, and Chibs wants to feel it against other parts of his body.

He slides the hand still at Juice’s nape up, up, the skin of the lad’s scalp as velvety soft under his palm as it looks – as he’d imagined, a time or 50 – the slightest drag of stubble growing in. Juice hitches against him, tilting his head into the touch until the opposite expanse of his throat is bared. This, Chibs can work with.

Skating his fingertips over the ink cresting the lines of Juice’s skull, he dips his head to close his teeth briefly over the cord of tendon stretched along Juice’s neck. Not enough to mark just yet, but enough to get the lad’s attention, bring him present while his skin flushes and prickles with gooseflesh. “Got a bit of a promise to make good on, aye, Juicy-boy?”

Juice lets out a soft sound and goes to his knees immediately, and Chibs can see the shake in his fingers as he works the buckle of Chibs’s belt. “Aye, that’s it,” he mutters, hands tracing along Juice’s fine skull, spreading his stance as Juice pops the button to his fly and teases cloth out of the way. The lad’s breathing heavy even before he takes Chibs into his mouth, and Chibs hears the words slide off his tongue, what he’s pretty sure Juice has been looking for since he first started eyeing Chibs. “Aye, lad, that’s a good boy.”

The response is immediate. Juice lets out a groan that seems to come up from his very toes, fingers clenching in the fabric he’s moved out of the way. “Goddamn, gonna suck you ‘til you can’t even see straight,” he croaks out. Then he buries his face in Chibs’s crotch, tongue flickering over skin as he noses the boxers out of the way, and Chibs can’t be bothered to correct him that there’s nothing really straight about this at all.

“Dunno, boy, you’re still doing a lot of talking,” he grits instead, dragging the edges of his nails through Juice’s mohawk. He’s achingly hard, and foreplay is for some other time. He doesn’t weigh possible responses – he grips Juice’s skull and whispers, “Suck me,” guiding Juice’s mouth around his cock and groaning at the warm silk of the lad’s mouth. “Yeah, lad, like that,” as Juice trails his tongue along the shaft, lips playing at the head. 

Chibs is man enough to know he won’t last – it’s been a long damn time since he allowed himself this feeling. He starts to thrust immediately, growling low in his throat at the vibration of Juice’s moan around him. “That’s it,” he gets out, eyes closing as he fucks in to Juice’s mouth. “Fuck yes, that’s it, just like that.”

The noises Juice is making are obscene, sloppy and wet and _hungry_ , like this is something he’s always wanted and is afraid he’ll never have again, and they’re hitting nearly every button Chibs has. Then the lad backs off, just holding the tip in his mouth and flicking his tongue at the slit, and Chibs makes the mistake of looking down. Juice’s eyes are gone black, his fingers knotted, white-knuckled, in the baggy fabric covering his own thighs despite the erection straining the material and leaving a growing damp spot.

And if the sounds are obscene, they’re nothing next to the blasphemy of the sight of Juice’s lips, red and swollen and spit-slick shiny, stretched around Chibs’s thick cock.

Chibs growls out a warning, but if he’s honest, he’s not interested in giving the lad a chance to do anything but drink him down. And Juice, bless him, does just that, throat muscles working as he swallows. 

It seems to Chibs to go on forever, coming down the boy’s throat, and nothing’s felt like this in years.

As he slowly comes back to himself, Juice’s mouth sliding off with a wet, filthy ‘pop’, he realizes the kid is as hard as ever, not even touching himself, and that’s when it sinks in to him, how deep this goes with Juice. The responsibility he’s taking on if he does anything more than just getting the kid off here.

He drags in a deep breath, fighting to get himself together. His fingers flex and release, then he slides them gently over Juice’s head, down over his cheekbone until he can smear his thumb through an errant drop of come at the corner of the boy’s mouth. Juice lets out a strangled noise, nuzzling into the touch. His eyes gleam up at Chibs with need written all over his face.

Chibs thinks maybe there’s no going back from this now, period.

“That’s a good boy,” he says roughly, not bothering to try and mask how wrecked his voice is. Slowly, eyes locked on Juice’s face, he brings his thumb to his mouth, drawing in their mingled tastes. “Didn’t even touch yourself, did ye?”

“No sir,” Juice rasps, and it draws another shudder from Chibs.

“That’s a good lad,” Chibs gets out, tugging the boy to his feet. “That’s what I like.” He kisses Juice, draws his tongue deep, hands roving over the strong back, down to the firm ass. He pulls Juice against him, hard, groaning when Juice shifts his weight so that his cock is riding against Chibs’s hipbone. Juice keeps moving, thrusting slow, and Chibs slides his hand between them, palming the hardness through Juice’s pants.

“That’s it, Juicy, feel fucking good like this,” he rumbles, punctuating the statement with a slow tug of his teeth on Juice’s earlobe, mirroring the movement of his hand. The lad jerks, going rigid and panting hard around his teeth suddenly planted in Chibs’s cut at his shoulder, just where it meets his neck.

“Please.” The word is quiet, muffled by cut and skin, and Chibs is almost sorry he’s come already.

“Need to come, Juice? You’re so fucking hard, boy, fair quivering with it.” He twists his wrist just so, and Juice claws at his back, all but climbing him. “It’s okay,” Chibs soothes, “let it go, lad, I want you to, been so good, Juicy, so good, come for me.”

Juice cries out, shoving his hips into Chibs’s hand. Chibs slows his strokes, catches Juice’s mouth and kisses him, slow and deep, until the lad calms against him enough to respond. And Chibs gets it, that he has to take Juice down and work him back up, that the lad’s too tied up in knots. So he takes his time – kisses and strokes and pets – until Juice is all worked up again, but on his own accord this time. 

And that’s when Chibs starts to talk to him. “Wasn’t sure you’d come to me, laddie.” He tries to piece together his next words as he moves them carefully toward the bed, ready to not have to hold the both of them up. Juice is all but wrapped around him like a touch-stoned octopus, hands wandering over Chibs’s sides and back, rooting his nose into the curve of Chibs’s neck as he gets them situated and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it with a quick drag before offering it to Juice. “Really didn’t think you’d come to me sober, but you’ve always been full of surprises, haven’t ye?”

He can almost feel Juice putting himself back together, even as he’s sprawled across Chibs, fully hard, taking grateful drags of nicotine as Chibs runs gentling hands along his body. “But you did, aye?” Chibs whispers, hands moving lower now, running along Juice’s crotch. “You did, because you’re a good lad, aren’t you?”

Juice makes this _noise_ at that, something low and wanting, and Chibs opens his jeans, palms his hard cock, still slippery from before. “Oh, fuck,” Juice breathes, hips canting into the pressure. His head falls back, making an elegant curve of his torso as smoke streams from his mouth and nose. Chibs wants to mark every inch of it, and he’ll get to that – sooner rather than later, he’s determined – but for now, he slides his free hand over it, finding the grooves of Juice’s ribs, the rise of his hips.

“Aye, we’ll get to that, Juicy. Somewhere that’s not here, when we have all the time in the world and no one to walk in for at least two days. I’ll take you down deep, ‘til you don’t know where you stop and I begin.”

Juice just manages to pass the cigarette back before burying his face in Chibs’s neck, fingers clutching Chibs’s back and grinding down when he thumbs the underside of Juice’s dick. “Think we can keep ourselves otherwise occupied ‘til then, hmmm?”

“Fuck yeah,” Juice’s voice scrapes out as he arches his hips into it, the rough pressure of Chibs’s palm. “I want,” he gets out, and Chibs grins against the skin of his neck.

“You want?” Chibs murmurs, nuzzling in. “You wan’ what, lad?” 

“Need,” Juice clarifies. “Need this. You.”

“That I can do.” Chibs wraps his hand firmly around Juice’s cock, strokes the lad hard and fast. His shaft is hot, heavy in Chibs’s hand, a weight he finds he’s missed as it swells that much more with his strokes, Juice’s release drawing close again. “Aye, Juice, just like tha’, you look so fucking good like this, coming apart for me.”

Chibs loses track, a little, of what he’s saying, distracted by Juice’s writhing, his soft, choked-off pleas, the dark fan of his lashes as he fights to keep his eyes open. 

When he reaches down to roll Juice’s balls in his free hand and Juice jolts up and comes again, hot wet rain over Chibs’s hand and wrist, a hoarse cry bitten off harshly, he doesn’t lose track of a single thing.

Chibs keeps his eyes glued to Juice’s face, talking him through it – “That’s a good lad, aye, fucking love seein’ ye like this” – watching it all play out as heat slips away to lassitude, and Juice slowly relaxes against him, eyes closing and aftershocks shuddering through his frame.

Chibs wants… there are a lot of things Chibs wants just then, but mainly to be able to stay here with Juice and sleep it off, let the lad come back to himself properly and start all over again. That kind of time is a luxury they don’t have right now, though, so he contents himself with wiping them down with a random shirt, with a few more moments of letting his hands drift lazily, enjoying the feel of Juice resting against him. 

If Chibs can drag himself away soon, he can feed the others to an excuse to let the lad nap a little, at least. He wouldn’t be doing him any kind of favor to send him out now to the tender mercies of Tig and Clay; given the slightest provocation, they’re still wont to treat him like the lowliest of prospects, and Chibs is feeling none too steady, himself.

“Reckon you’d best stay here, laddie, sleep off tha’ migraine. Ye’ll ruin yer eyes someday, staying up all hours wi’ tha’ shite,” he finally murmurs, making one last long pass of his hand up Juice’s spine and around to his cheek, tilting the sleepy face up. “Ye get me, Juicy?”

He blinks slowly – disbelieving, maybe, but Chibs will get him over that, given time – then smiles conspiratorially. “Yeah, I got you.”

The look on his face suggests he’s making plans as to how to express his gratitude later, which Chibs is entirely on board with and really doesn’t need to be considering at the moment. So he winks at him, pulls himself away and puts himself back to rights, manages to get out the door and lock it before anyone comes looking.

It’s part of Chibs’s job to nurture initiative; if today was any indication, Juice has picked up a few things, and Chibs can feel the anticipation building again already, a low thrum under his skin like a shot of adrenaline.

He’s willing to allow it may be a while before he finds out the extent of what Juice has in mind, what with the sudden escalated level of crazy around SAMCRO these days, but find out he will. They’ve both had a glimpse, and there’s no going back now.

-End


End file.
